


Sanctuary

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Season/Series 05, wing whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Bobby gets a rude awakening when an injured Cas literally crashes into his salvage yard. And what the hell is the angel doing with actual wings?





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> For e-pony on ff, who was hoping to see Bobby's reaction to Cas's wings in my other one shot "Through Fire." I thought I'd just write a brand new fic with more wing!whump instead. ^_^
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to Miyth and 29Pieces for beta reading!

 

 

A raucous crash of crunching metal and a resounding bang jolted Bobby from his sleep. He bolted upright in his den bed, reaching for his shotgun and bracing himself to go running outside…only his legs weren't responding.

_Dammit_.

He whipped his gaze out the window, but couldn't see anything. There was another creak of shifting carbon steel and groan as it settled. What, did someone airdrop a vehicle into his salvage yard? Or was it the Winchesters? Oh, he was gonna rip them a new one for not calling to say they were coming. And if Dean was out back, something must have happened to the Impala.

Grumbling with irritation and concern, Bobby slid himself into his wheelchair and headed for the door, shotgun still in hand because one could never be too careful during the Apocalypse. He really hoped those boys were okay so he wouldn't have to feel guilty for yelling at them.

Except, as he wheeled outside and around to the scrap heap, he didn't see any sign of the sleek, '67 Chevy. Instead, he found a stack of three junkers completely knocked over. One was upside down on the ground, with another on its side and half leaning on top of the first. The third had a  _dent_  that nearly folded the thing into a horseshoe.

Bobby raised his shotgun and started sweeping it across the yard. He heard a soft rustling, then what sounded like a pained grunt coming from behind the busted Acura. Bracing his weapon in one hand, he used his other to propel himself around to confront whatever dumb-ass monster had made the mistake of trespassing on his property. Because three cars didn't just fall over like that on their own.

Bobby strained his wrist to steer the wheelchair in a straight line one-handed, and thought maybe he should have grabbed a pistol instead. But then he caught sight of something large and black shifting up and then out of view, and was happy for the shotgun.

He wheeled around the edge of the junker, and pulled up short in gaping disbelief. A massive wing was splayed across the ground, bigger than any damn bird he'd ever seen before. But then his eyes registered the unmistakeable tan trench coat, albeit covered in blood…and two tears in the back where that wing— _wings_ , there were two—was sprouting from.

"What in the  _hell_."

Castiel lifted his head from where he was sprawled face down on the ground, barely holding himself up on his forearms. The wings shifted with the movement, and Bobby noticed the coat wasn't the only thing stained in red, and that several feathers seemed to be missing in chunks from the wingspan.

" _Cas_?" he uttered, still not quite believing his eyes.

The angel didn't respond, but stretched out a bloody hand to one of the dented door panels and began to do some kind of finger paint on it.

Bobby tensed. "How many unfriendlies are incoming?"

Cas finished the sigil or whatever it was, and then slumped his forehead to the ground. "None," he rasped. "This place…already…heavily warded." He raised his head again, though it looked like it took a lot of effort. "It seemed…best place…to hide." The angel cast a look at the toppled cars, then ducked his gaze in what looked more like shame than exhaustion. "Apologies for…damaging your place of work."

"What the hell happened to you?" Bobby demanded, deciding for the moment to trust that they were safe here. It was true, after all, that he had this place warded against pretty much anything, and he assumed that rune Cas had just painted in his own blood would probably take care of any other nasties.

"Demons," Cas ground out. "And…hellhound."

Well, that explained the blood… "What's with the wings?"

Cas's pinched brow furrowed further. "Angels have wings."

Bobby scowled. "I know that. Why is it they're corporeal?"

Cas tracked his gaze over the onyx feathers splayed around him. "The demons had a spell to forcibly manifest them. I suspect they were trying to disorient me."

Bobby arched a brow. Looked like it had worked, given how torn up Cas was. "How'd you get away?"

The angel just looked at him blandly. "I killed them."

Oh. So it was one of those, "you should see the other guy" kind of fight. Not that Cas would understand that reference.

Said angel grunted as he tried to lift himself up straighter. "But with my injuries, I am unable to return my wings to the ethereal plane at the moment. I'd hoped to…find sanctuary here while I heal," he added almost under his breath.

"Yeah, alright." Bobby glanced back toward the house; it wasn't gonna be fun trying to fit Cas through the door with those wings, not to mention all the stuff he could knock over once inside. Bobby caused enough damage bumping his wheelchair into things.

"Can you make it to the garage?" he asked. Truth be told, Cas didn't look capable of standing, let alone walking, and Bobby didn't know how he would go about supporting the angel's weight when his own legs didn't work, either.

Cas gazed doubtfully at the fifteen feet to the door. "I don't wish to intrude," he mumbled. "I'll be fine."

Bobby huffed. "Like you said, this is my place of business. Maybe I don't get customers like I used to, but someone could stop by and see you. So come on, I can't drag your ass inside on my own."

He did propel his wheelchair forward and turned it around so Cas could at least use it as a support. The angel angled an uncertain look up at him before reaching up to grab the armrest and using it to haul himself upright. From there it was a slow and awkward shuffle to the garage.

There was a ratty sofa in the back against the rear wall, which seemed too far away considering how much effort it had taken just to cover this distance. But Cas gritted his teeth and kept moving forward, though his complexion was grey by the time they reached the couch and he collapsed onto it. Only his upper torso ended up bowed over the cushions, his legs folded on the floor and the wings fanning out behind him. Bobby had to watch where he was steering to avoid running over the feathers.

"Alright, what now?" he asked.

"Now I- I need to rest," Cas said, voice growing fainter. He then went limp, head dropping onto his arms on the seat cushion.

Well, guess that was that.

Bobby spent a drawn-out moment staring at those wings before tearing himself away. Hopefully Cas would heal up soon and leave him be, not that Bobby needed his garage space anymore. He just had better things to do than entertain houseguests. Especially the stuffy, angel kind.

He went back into the house and made himself coffee and breakfast. Then he spent a few hours going through Apocalypse lore. It was tiring, thankless work, and he wasn't even making any progress.

His thoughts occasionally turned to the angel in the garage, and Bobby wondered whether Cas would bother to pop in and say bye before he left again. Probably not. He was more likely to just flit off the instant he woke up. Never mind that he might be of some  _use_  going through the lore. But no, Bobby was the paraplegic; let him handle desk duty.

Still, as time wore on, he couldn't ignore the niggle in the back of his mind. Maybe he should go out and check on the angel.

He wheeled back outside, annoyed with himself for feeling worried at all. Cas was probably long gone.

Except, when Bobby came through the garage door, he was greeted with the same sight of those massive wings sprawled across the floor. Actually…Cas hadn't moved. At all. He was still half slumped against the sofa, head pillowed on his arms, and he looked to still be out cold.

Bobby made his way across the garage, eyes narrowed. What the…Cas was still  _bleeding_. A puddle of dark crimson glistened on the floor beneath the mangled wing.

Bobby swore under his breath. "Cas, dammit, wake up." He scooted closer and poked the angel's shoulder, careful to avoid the actual wing. Cas didn't stir. Bobby didn't know if he could bleed out from these injuries, but he obviously couldn't just leave Cas to continue bleeding all over the couch and floor.

_Balls_.

Bobby turned and wheeled back into the house to gather up the medical supplies on hand. He stopped on his way back out to pick up his phone and dial the Winchesters. Cas was their angel, after all.

"Yo, Bobby," Dean answered after the third ring.

"Hey, you boys still in Akron?"

"Yeah, we just got a lead on the ghost's identity. Something up?"

Bobby snorted. "You could say that. Cas is here. Popped in covered in blood, and oh yeah, wings."

Dean was silent for a beat. "Wings?" he repeated.

"Angels do have them, you know," Bobby snarked. "And apparently his got made visible when he tangled with some demons, and a hellhound. He's pretty banged up."

"We're leaving now. How bad is it?"

"Not really sure," Bobby hedged, not wanting to admit he hadn't bothered to look before now. "He's passed out in the garage. And…doesn't look like he's healing."

Dean cursed. "Okay, dammit, we're several hours away."

"He ain't goin' anywhere," Bobby said. And maybe he meant bodily as much as an assurance that he wasn't gonna stand by and let the angel die. Not from this point forward, anyway.

So he hung up with Dean and took the first-aid supplies back outside. The mantle of wings all down Cas's back was going to present a challenge for checking the angel for injuries.

Or, well, Bobby could always start with the wing…

_Now I'm a damn veterinarian,_  he mentally grumbled.

Nevertheless, he pursed his mouth as he considered the situation. First, he wheeled over one of the tool carts and emptied a pull-out shelf so he could set the medical supplies there. Then he dragged over a tool bench. That took more effort, as it didn't have wheels, but he managed. The grunting and scraping of metal did nothing to rouse the angel, which was unfortunate; Bobby really could have used his help with this.

Oh well, there was nothing for it. Cringing, Bobby reached for the injured wing and lifted it enough to drape over the bench. Cas didn't stir from that, either.

Bobby let out a breath. At least now he could reach the wounds better, and boy were they gnarly. There were several gashes in the tender flesh of the wing's arm bone that Bobby assumed were from a hellhound's claws.

He set to work, first with cleaning the blood and then stitching up the fissures. He idly wondered what would happen to his handiwork once Cas made his wings go poof or whatever again, but that was neither here nor there.

Still, the fact that he was suturing an angel's  _wings_  was surreal. He'd never written Cas off as a nerdy guy with powers the way Dean seemed to, but if Bobby ever needed a stark reminder that Castiel wasn't human, here it was.

And yet, it didn't repulse Bobby the way a rugaru or vetala would. The angel could certainly be terrifying if he had a mind to be, but Castiel had come here seeking a place to hide…probably because he had nowhere else to go, what with being on the outs with Heaven.

And Bobby had left him out in the garage like some mangy stray cat. Hell, if Cas hadn't crashed into those junkers, he probably would have just hid out among the scrap heap nursing his wounds alone…and bleeding out from them.

_Damn idjit_.

But, Bobby knew with undeniable conviction that he hadn't exactly given Cas reason to think he'd be welcome here.

The angel was only a nomadic wanderer because he'd chosen to side with Dean and Sam Winchester in stopping the Apocalypse. There was something to be said for that.

Bobby loved those boys like they were his own. So he could extend the same courtesy he would them to the angel who somehow cared about Sam and Dean enough to fall.

As long as Feathers didn't die on him.

Once all the lacerations were tended to, Bobby moved on to cleaning the feathers. Several were clumped with blood, and he did his best to smooth them out. But some were completely snapped in the center of the vane. Clenching his jaw, Bobby steeled himself to pull those out. He managed to get three before the wing suddenly shuddered, and Bobby jerked his hands back, hoping he wasn't about to get smacked in the face for his trouble.

Cas moaned and lifted his head. He blinked furiously, eyes slightly glassy as he craned his neck back and focused his gaze on the wing draped over the bench.

"What- what are you doing?" he demanded shakily.

Bobby kept his palms raised. "Relax, I was just trying to patch you up."

Castiel's wide eyes darted over his wing and to the floor where the plucked feathers had fallen, his chest rising somewhat rapidly with shallow, almost panicked breaths.

"I figured they had to come out; they were pretty damaged," Bobby hurried to explain.

Cas jerked his gaze to him almost fearfully before he responded softly, "Oh. Of course."

"Sorry, is it taboo to touch an angel's wings?"

Cas's brows knitted together tighter. "No. It's just…angel feathers are useful for certain spells," he said, voice a deeper gravelly texture than normal.

Bobby frowned. "Well, I ain't gonna pluck you for fun here. And I sure as hell wouldn't use your feathers without permission."

Cas slowly eased back over the cushions. "I suppose…it might be prudent to collect some. Before they're gone."

Bobby scrunched his face up in confusion. "Before what are gone?"

Cas was silent for a moment. "My wings. At the rate I'm slowly falling, I will probably lose the use of them in another year. A few after that…" His throat bobbed. "I don't know if I will simply cease to feel them, or if they will…decay. Fall off."

Bobby didn't know what to say to that. He…could oddly relate, what with his legs. At least Cas was still able to help in the fight for the time being.

Although…Bobby was struck with a profound sadness as he contemplated these magnificent wings shriveling up and dying. And he started to wonder if Cas would feel it, or if his wings would go numb long before that. Bobby found himself hoping the angel wouldn't have to endure that kind of pain. No one should have to.

He went back to cleaning the feathers, keeping a peripheral watch on Cas's body language as he did so. The tense tiger from when he'd woken up was docile, but it was replaced with a clenched jaw and beads of sweat as Cas kept his eyes squeezed shut and attempted to breathe through the pain. Bobby wondered whether there were any pain killers he could give Cas that would even work on an angel.

At least he'd pretty much finished up the one wing, and now he turned his attention to survey the other one, folded down on the opposite side. "The other wing injured?"

He didn't see any blood, but it was difficult to tell against the shiny obsidian feathers. But it also didn't look like a chunk had been ripped out of it.

Cas made a muffled noise as he shook his head against his forearm. "Hellhound only got…the one."

Small blessings.

"What about your, uh, vessel?" he asked.

"It will be easier to heal once my grace has recovered," Cas replied, lifting his head again to glance over his shoulder, a pinch appearing between his brows. "Thank you. I wouldn't have expected mortal ministrations to help, but…I think it is."

"You should've asked for help sooner," Bobby scolded. Or at all. Technically, Cas had been unconscious when Bobby started the first aid.

Cas gazed at him as though perplexed. "I did. I asked for sanctuary."

"I meant with the fact that you were bleeding all over the place," he snipped.

Cas averted his gaze. "I gathered that my presence here was inconvenience enough. And I have no way to reciprocate since I cannot heal your legs."

Bobby frowned. "This ain't a point system."

And okay, yeah, maybe he'd been bitter and pissed off when Cas couldn't heal his legs right after the demon-stabbing incident. But…maybe he was beginning to see that 'being cut off' wasn't just like having a battery unplugged. And still, Castiel dropped everything when the boys were involved, and never asked for anything in return. Except this time. And all he'd wanted was a safe place to rest after getting chewed up by a hellhound. That wasn't asking a lot.

Bobby sagged. "You can find sanctuary here anytime, Cas," he told him. "Actually, I'd prefer if you came here when you're in trouble or need help."

The angel quirked a confused look at him. "Why?"

Bobby bit back a scowl. "Because that's what friends do for each other, ya idjit."

Castiel's mouth turned down further as though the fond insult was giving him trouble, but after a moment he ducked his gaze. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Bobby almost opened his mouth to gruffly say not to mention it, but something about the angel's forlorn demeanor gave him pause. This apparently meant more to Cas than Bobby had initially realized. Because being on the outs with Heaven…Cas probably didn't have many friends anymore. Just two broken boys and a crippled hunter.

Casting a look over the onyx wings, one tattered and nearly shredded, imagining them fading and turning to chaff in the future, Bobby wondered if maybe Cas fit in with them a little too well.

But he was here now, and Bobby had no intention of running him off. Not anymore.

A while later, the raucous rumble of the Impala heralded the boys' arrival, and Bobby wheeled himself outside to greet them.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked as soon as he clamored out of the passenger side.

"He's resting," Bobby replied. "Kinda hard to check all his injuries with the wings in the way."

Dean just shook his head as though not quite buying it. "Where is he?"

Bobby cocked his head toward the garage. "He wouldn't fit in the house."

Dean strode past him, Sam on his heels, and Bobby turned his wheelchair around to follow after them. The moment they burst into the garage, they both pulled up short, expressions flabbergasted.

"What the hell…" Dean breathed.

"You get used to it," Bobby said with a shrug.

Well, kind of. The wings were so large, and folded the way they were, it looked like some giant eagle or griffin had made a nest in Bobby's garage. Except that a pair of legs in black slacks was extending out from underneath the bottom of the plumage.

"I fixed up the wing as best I could," Bobby explained. "But I think he's got some injuries on his person. Will be easier to check with you two here to help."

The Winchesters finally broke from their stupor and started to cautiously approach the wounded angel, giving the wings a wide berth. Dean leaned over the armrest of the couch and hesitantly reached out to touch Cas's shoulder.

"Cas?"

Castiel groaned, but his eyelids fluttered. "Mmph."

"Hey, buddy."

Castiel blinked up at him in exhaustion. "Hello, Dean."

"How you doin'?"

Cas shifted slightly to glance over his shoulder at his wings. "I'm…I think you would say, 'a mess.'"

Dean gave him a sympathetic grimace. "Yeah, you look like hammered crap. Bobby stitched up your wing, but he said you've got other injuries?"

"Not serious ones. They're healing."

"Mind if we look anyway?"

Cas heaved a sigh, but started to sit up straighter. "I can try to return my wings to the ethereal plane…"

"How much is that gonna hurt in your current condition?" Bobby broke in.

Cas fidgeted. "I know their presence is…inconvenient."

There was that word again. Bobby was gonna have to do something about the angel's self-estimation in that regard.

"We'll work around them, Cas," Sam said hurriedly. "Don't push yourself."

Dean pursed his mouth as he surveyed the feathered appendages protruding from Cas's back through tears in the trench coat. "We might have to cut these off…"

Castiel went rigid for a split second before Dean seemed to catch himself.

"The coat and suit," he quickly amended. "I'll buy you a new one."

Cas relaxed a fraction. "I…might be able to fix them, once my grace is recovered."

"Even better," Dean said.

He and Sam helped Cas off the floor to fully sit on the couch, then set about trying to examine any additional injuries he was sporting. The angel endured it with a somewhat flummoxed expression and barely concealed exasperation.

Bobby shook his head to himself. Sometimes sanctuary came with overprotective mother hens.

But even angels needed a place to lay their weary heads.


End file.
